The Best Dressed Lie
by WeAreTomorrow
Summary: He goes back for more, despite his best efforts not to. Because he swears it's only pleasure but no one believes him. Not even himself. Slash. Maxxie/Tony.
1. Chapter 1

I'll start by saying that I have never watched this show.

This is based only what friends have told me. For those who aren't fans either, here is what you need to know: Tony Stonem is a manipulating wanker, Maxxie is a quiet, gay dancer and Tony tries to seduce Maxxie on a trip to Russia in the very room that his long-time girlfriend has passed out in. Maxxie pushes him away.

Oh, yes. Sexiness warning apply.

I hope you enjoy.

* * *

><p><em>...the naked truth is always better than the finest dressed lie...<em>

* * *

><p>Tony Stonem loves to play games.<p>

He likes to dance people around on puppet strings to invisible music, songs that only he can hear.

He'll lead them along, hands moving through the air like the conductor of an orchestra, eyes closed, spinning endless ideas like silk threads.

(He's spinning himself a noose.)

And when he's bored?

He'll cut your strings, leave you lifeless in an abandoned heap wondering what you did to deserve this. What you did to deserve Tony Stonem and his mind fuckery.

But he's not the only one who plays the game.

(This game of sex and drugs but never ever of love.)

Tony is king, sitting on top of the world, flaunting it, but there are others.

Michelle, of course, but she's been playing so long now and it gets so tiring after a while, doesn't it? She closes her heavy eyelids and misses important pieces of the puzzle. Misses things going on right in front of her.

(The taste of alcohol and kissing shadows.)

Checkmate.

She's grown too attached, too sentimental. She wants more than he can give her, than he wants to give her.

They've been playing so long now and he senses her weakness.

He is Tony Stonem and he pounces.

Breaks her into pieces in an unfamiliar country full of snowflakes and melting secrets that drip drop on the floor of a room where she should be alone, but isn't. Drip drop. Drip drop.

She wakes up in the morning to find her heart missing and a puddle of vodka at the foot of her bed.

She wakes up and decides she is done playing. She wants to stop all these stupid games.

(He won't but she pretends that he might, for her.)

Her voice is steady but her hands tremble as she pushes Tony away and tells him to choose. He smiles at her, pulling her closer, and she pretends that she isn't giving in.

He is Tony Stonem and he wins.

But guess what, he's _bored_.

He came and saw and conquered and now he's ready to move on because there's a new player in town.

Someone who's been there all along, who isn't loud like Tony. Like Michelle.

(Whatever else Russia could've been, it wasn't and he really wants it to be.)

Someone who plays subtly, a soft tangle of notes in the background but now that he's started listening he can't stop.

There's a certain melody to the way the other boy's hips move, swaying slowly, deliciously slowly, back and forth. Back and forth and his eyes follow every little movement with fascination.

It's not obvious the way Michelle is, grinding back against a boy that Tony doesn't care about, shoving her tongue down someone's throat, glaring over at him.

Maxxie, on the other, isn't so transparent.

A coy, sideways glance from under thick lashes that could've been an accident if it weren't for the knowing curve of his lips.

It isn't as blatantly sexual, his dance, with his face looking so innocent like his hands aren't cupping his dance partner's ass, pulling him closer. The kiss is full of wet, slippery tongue and Tony can't look away.

(The taste of it keeps him awake and something tightens painfully deep inside him.)

Michelle, on the other hand, screams _take me_. Her skin-tight dress is low cut, leaving nothing to imagination. Not that it would anyway.

He's had her.

Her strings have been cut.

Covered in glitter and sweat, he can't help but think that Maxxie is much more enticing.

Michelle is so very shallow. She is exactly what it looks like.

Not that it wasn't fun while it lasted. But she can't accept that it's very much over now, big fish and all, and while it's amusing it's also getting in the way of things.

Things like Maxxie and _who the fuck_ is he dragging up the stairs.

Because there's more to Maxxie then russian kisses and way Tony trails his fingertips down his stomach when he wonders how things could have gone differently. Bed sheets stained and unsatisfied as ever he wishes he could go back.

(There would be no girlfriend and no games, just them and what he needs.)

He plots and he plans, sticky hands in the air before him, his music echoing in his head.

The unavoidable fact is, he can't fool Maxxie. He's smarter then that.

Maxxie has already proven he can play the game. That he's an equal, with his patience and lingering glances, always, always keeping up the façade of _innocence_, when Tony knows that there's more to him.

Tony wants to dig his fingernails in deep and find out every dirty little secret.

There will be lots, he can feel it.

There's something darker tugging at him, like a magnetic force, every time Maxxie turns his wide-eyed, perfectly _naïve_ expression onto him.

With his blond hair, fair complexion and his reputation for being _nice _and _sweet_, he's an angel to Tony's demons.

(Maxxie _is_ his lately, always tugging at his indecent thoughts.)

Tony wants to bite down hard and see if Maxxie bleeds red, like the rest of them.

Red, the color of sinners.

(He wants to sin with Maxxie, more than anything.)

He is Tony Stonem and maybe he's finally found someone who can keep up.

* * *

><p>Maxxie is a pretty boy and he knows it. Uses it.<p>

He looks delicate.

Innocent.

He has that smile, just a little bit crooked, and the eyes, innocent and inviting. When he looks at you, he can make you lose your train of thought. It's almost too easy but he restrains himself.

Too much of a good thing and you end up like Tony.

Loved and hated but also exposed. They all know he's a liar and a cheat and they don't believe a word he says even though they do what he says anyway.

Tony sits on top of the world but it's a dangerous place to be.

It's such a long way down.

Maxxie knows exactly what he is and uses it carefully.

(Beautiful.)

He could be on top to but he prefers the shadows. He likes to keep to the background until there's something in it for him. He can be patient.

Tony, you see, lives off of attention. For having people know his name.

Maxxie would give it all up for knowledge. When you're blinded by the spotlight you can't see what's happening backstage and Maxxie, he needs to know that. To know what's happening.

Somehow, though, he's ended up being center stage, anyway.

(Beautiful and talented.)

He has a lithe dancer's body and the things he's done with it, well. What his mother doesn't know... But he knows, he makes it his job to know. How to twist just so. When to pull away to leave someone wanting more.

He knows how to play up his looks, how to seem like he's precious, something to be taken care of. Or corrupted, depending on who's looking.

He makes them all look, given enough time.

That's his game, his talent, what he's good at. He can make them want him.

(A game of sex and love, yes, that's how you win.)

He can slip into someone's life without a second thought. He can make himself important. He watches Tony and learns how.

Learns how to smile bright enough to make people forgive you.

How to ask for favors without really asking. A subtle brush of fingertips and an innocent suggestion.

He's better at this than Tony now, at not getting caught.

He looks like an angel and no suspects him. Maxxie is the nice one. The sweet one.

The one you can count on to listen to your secrets, the one you spill your heart to when you can't take it anymore because he's honest and trustworthy.

(Oh, he'll listen.)

If he weren't the good one, would he have pushed Tony away?

If he weren't, would he have confessed what almost happened to Angie, to the entire freaking class, knowing the whole school would find out by the end of the day?

Oh yes, Maxxie must be a good boy.

He glances at Tony from across a room weighed down with smoke and flashing blue lights and hides a triumphant smirk when he meets a dark, lustful gaze.

Yes, Maxxie is good.

He's the best.

* * *

><p>Maxxie doesn't flaunt it, not the way Tony does.<p>

Not the way Michelle does.

But if you catch the glint of a sharp white smile, retreating up the stairs, dripping with suggestion, it's hard to look away. Tony tries and can't.

He pushes his way through a crowd of easy, sweat-slicked bodies that turn to him eagerly, offering an escape. A night without consequences and mind games.

He's not interested.

Maxxie is sex, unlike he's ever had it.

This is unfamiliar territory and he hates the feeling of being out of his depth.

Of being powerless.

But Maxxie takes him from behind, him on his hands and knees, braced against the headboard and a broken moan slips through his swollen lips.

He can't deny that it feels good, Maxxie's hands tangled in his hair, slamming into _that _spot _again and again_ until he sees white, blinding white and tumbles over the edge of something that could simply be called_ pleasure_ but isn't only.

(They're playing a complicated game here and he thinks he might be losing.)

That's what bothers him. Itches at him, like the lyrics to a forgotten song.

He goes back for more, despite his best efforts not to.

This time it's Maxxie, pressed against a wall and it feels a little more normal, a little more like Tony Stonem and control, but he falls off the edge anyway with a low moan of _Maxxie_ buried in the boy's shoulder.

(Looking back, this is the beginning of the end.)

* * *

><p>Sex with Tony is all about power.<p>

It's all about who will break first.

He let's Tony drag him into the bedroom by the front of his shirt and slam the door shut.

(But Maxxie locks it.)

He lets the other boy shove him down unto the plush bed covers and straddle him, both of their jeans painfully tight at this point. Eager fingers slip the shirt over Maxxie's head.

Tony slows suddenly, teasing him.

Dark eyes filled with lust and amusement, the boy leans down to lick a sloppy line from the hollow of his neck down to the dip of his bellybutton.

Maxxie arches up into the wetness of Tony's mouth and grinds them together.

He sees the Stonem confidence slip just a little at the very real reminder that he is about to fuck around with another guy. A split second hesitation and Maxxie sees his chance, takes it.

He flips them effortlessly, pushing Tony back into the mattress.

He's stronger then he looks and Tony is caught off-balance. The brunette blinks up at him in surprise and he uses the moment to slip Tony's form fitting jeans down to his ankles, leaving only his tight white briefs.

Tony gulps, pushing himself up on his elbows, confident mask falling away completely, the word _stop_ hovering on the tip of his tongue.

Maxxie takes a moment to relish in the feeling of control.

Of _knowing_ what Tony looks like when he's unsure.

Before the other boy can cut this short Maxxie presses an open-mouthed kiss against the thin fabric of his briefs, his mouth hot and wet. Tony's breath hitches, body trembling with warring desire and fear.

He is the _only one_ that knows what this looks like.

(Delicious.)

Maxxie licks his lips, looking straight into Tony's impossibly dark eyes.

He knows full well what he looks like right now, with his lips swollen from frantic, messy kisses. His hair, always so perfect, now tangled and mussed. His eyes, those wide innocent eyes, glinting with lust and possibilities.

He looks straight at Tony and says, clearly, pronouncing every single word, voice sweet and pure:

"I am going to suck your cock."

Maxxie is a fallen angel and Tony shudders and sinks back into the pillows with a helpless moan.

(Delicious and his for the taking.)

This is only _for him_.

* * *

><p>So. Um.<p>

I hope you liked, I wrote a sex scene between them but it's bloody awful so this will have to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Dancing Puppets, Singing Liars**

_...the naked truth is worth more than the best dressed lie..._

* * *

><p>Tony Stonem loves to play games.<p>

He likes to dance people around on puppet strings to invisible music, songs that only he can hear. He's a fine baritone, a better composer.

He'll lead them along, hands moving through the air like the conductor of an orchestra, eyes closed, spinning endless ideas like silk threads. He's catch you in them eventually, just stick around.

(_He's spinning himself a noose_.)

And when he's bored?

He'll cut your strings, leave you lifeless in an abandoned heap wondering what you did to deserve this. What you did to deserve Tony Stonem and his mind fuckery.

But he's not the only one who plays the game.

(_This game of sex and drugs but never ever of love_.)

Tony is king, sitting on top of the world, flaunting it, but, there are others.

Michelle, of course, but she's been playing so long now and it gets so tiring after a while, doesn't it? She closes her heavy eyelids and misses important pieces of the puzzle. Misses things going on right in front of her.

Tears, the taste of alcohol and shadows kissing on the cracked plaster walls.

Checkmate.

She's grown too attached, too sentimental. She's asking for more than he can give her, than he wants to give her.

They've been playing so long now and he senses weakness.

He is Tony Stonem and he pounces.

Breaks her into pieces in an unfamiliar country full of snowflakes and secrets that melt, that _drip drop_ on the floor of a room where she should be alone, but isn't. Well, she's always hated the rain, and the way it makes her mascara smear in thick black lines like war paint.

She wakes up in the morning, crying, with spilled vodka in puddles at the foot of her bed.

She wakes up and decides she is done playing. She wants to stop all these stupid games.

(_He won't but she pretends that he might, for her_.)

Her voice is steady but her hands tremble as she pushes Tony away and tells him to choose. He smiles at her, pulling her closer, and she pretends that she isn't giving in.

He is Tony Stonem and he wins.

But guess what, he's _bored_.

He has the attention span of a child, the voice of an angel and fingers that clench into fists when he thinks about all the time he's wasted, all the little answers he's never asked the right questions to.

(_Whatever else Russia could've been, it wasn't and he really wants it to be_.)

It's like soft background music, like the unnoticed hum of traffic outside when he opens his window to let the cold air in. It's always there but he's just noticing now and it's ever so slightly addicting. He can't stop listening, waiting breathless for the next line.

There's a certain melody to the way the other boy's hips move, swaying slowly, deliciously slowly, back and forth. Back and forth and his eyes follow every little movement with fascination.

An answer, but he's still looking for the right question.

It's not obvious the way Michelle is, grinding back against a boy that Tony doesn't care about, shoving her tongue down someone's throat, glaring over at him.

Maxxie, on the other, isn't so transparent.

A coy, sideways glance from under thick lashes that could've been an accident if it weren't for the knowing curve of his lips.

It isn't as blatantly sexual, his dance, with his face looking so innocent like his hands aren't cupping his dance partner's ass, pulling him closer. The kiss is full of wet, slippery tongue and Tony can't look away.

(_The taste of it keeps him awake and something tightens painfully deep inside him_.)

Michelle, on the other hand, screams _take me_. Her skin-tight dress is low cut, leaving nothing to imagination. Not that it would anyway.

He's had her.

Her strings have been cut.

Covered in glitter and sweat, he can't help but think that Maxxie is much more enticing.

Michelle is so very shallow. She is exactly what it looks like, no layers.

Not that it wasn't fun while it lasted because, yeah, the sex was great. He likes the way he can make her shake apart; he likes knowing that even as she digs her nails into his shoulder, he could stop. Tony is always able to stop, that's the thing. But she can't accept that it's very much over now, bigger fish and all, and while it's amusing, it's also getting in the way of other things.

Things like Maxxie and who the fuck is he dragging up the stairs.

Because there's more to Maxxie then snowflake kisses, cold and fluttering, and the way Tony trails his fingertips down his stomach when he wonders how things could have gone differently. Bed sheets stained and unsatisfied as ever, he wishes he could go back.

(_There would be no girlfriend and no games, just them and what he needs_.)

He plots and he plans, sticky hands in the air before him, his music echoing in his head.

The unavoidable fact is—he can't fool Maxxie. He's smarter then that.

Maxxie has already proven he can play the game. That he's an equal, with his patience and lingering glances, always, always keeping up the façade of innocence, when Tony knows that there's more to him.

Tony wants to dig his fingernails in deep and bleed the dirty secrets out.

There's something darker tugging at him, like a magnetic force, every time Maxxie turns that wide-eyed, perfectly naïve expression onto him.

With his blond hair, fair complexion and his reputation for being nice and sweet, he's an angel to Tony's demons.

(_Maxxie is his lately, his demon, always tugging at his indecent thoughts_.)

Tony wants to bite down hard and see if Maxxie bleeds red, like the rest of them.

Red, the color of sinners. Of lust and pain and puppet strings (_but never love, no_.)

(_He wants to sin with Maxxie, more than anything_.)

He is Tony Stonem and, maybe, he's found someone who can keep up.

* * *

><p>Maxxie is a pretty boy and he knows it. Uses it.<p>

He looks delicate.

Innocent.

He has that smile, just a little bit crooked, and the eyes, innocent and inviting. When he looks at you, he can make you lose your train of thought. It's almost too easy, but he restrains himself.

Too much of a good thing and you end up like Tony.

Loved and hated but also exposed. They all know he's a liar and a cheat and they don't believe a word he says even though they do what he says anyway.

Tony sits on top of the world but that's such a dangerous place to be.

It's such a long way down.

Maxxie knows exactly what he is and uses it carefully.

(_Beautiful_.)

Tony, you see, lives off of attention. Of having people know his name; they whisper it reverently.

But when you're blinded by the spotlight you can't see what's happening backstage and Maxxie, he needs to know that. To know what's happening. He'd give it all up for the chance, not to be known, but to _know_.

Somehow, though, he's ended up being center stage, anyway.

(_Beautiful and talented_.)

He has a lithe dancer's body and the things he's done with it, well. What his mother doesn't know...

But he knows, he makes it his job to know. How to twist just so. When to pull away to leave someone wanting more. It's hard sometimes, when Tony looks at him with red thoughts and wandering hands. It's hard, when the desire to know is overpoweringly strong as he drinks it down with the alcohol.

Maxxie has a plan though and if nothing else, he's patient.

He knows how to play up his looks, how to seem like he's precious, something to be taken care of. Or corrupted, depending on who's looking.

He makes them all look, given enough time.

That's his game, his talent, what he's good at. He can make them want him.

(_A game of sex and love, yes, that's how you win_.)

He can slip into someone's life, a calculated tilt of the hip, a practiced sway. Enter through the background, the backdoors that nobody worries about because they don't realize that trust is rarely earned and, more often then not, unconsciously given.

He can make himself important with a real laugh, head thrown back, neck exposed.

(_Bite me_.)

He watches Tony and learns how.

Learns how to smile bright enough to make people forgive you.

How to ask for favors without really asking. A subtle brush of fingertips and an innocent suggestion. Can you point it back to him, the petty crimes, the broken hearts?

He's better at this than Tony now, at not getting caught.

He looks like an angel and no suspects him. Maxxie is the nice one. The sweet one.

The one you can count on to listen to your secrets, the one you spill your heart to when you can't take it anymore because he's honest and trustworthy.

(_Oh, he'll listen_.)

If he weren't the good one, would he have pushed Tony away?

If he weren't, would he have confessed what almost happened to Angie, to the entire damn class, knowing the whole school would find out by the end of the day?

Oh yes, Maxxie must be a good boy.

He glances at Tony from across a room dizzy with smoke and flashing blue lights and hides a triumphant smirk when he meets a dark, lustful gaze.

Yes, Maxxie is good.

He's the best.

* * *

><p>Maxxie doesn't flaunt it, not the way Tony does.<p>

Not the way Michelle does.

He's not loud about it, the big convincing speeches and impossible ideas. Tony is a singer you know, a piper, and he draws you in with slick, honeyed words that stick as you swallow dryly. The taste always lingers.

Maxxie is a dancer, a puppet and a puppeteer. He pulls his own strings, see.

And if you catch the glint of a sharp white smile, retreating up the stairs, dripping with suggestion, it's hard to look away. Tony tries and can't.

(_Actions to his words_.)

He pushes his way through a crowd of easy, sweat-slicked bodies that turn toward to him eagerly, offering an escape. A night without consequences and mind games.

He's not interested.

Maxxie is sex, unlike he's ever had it.

This is unfamiliar territory and he hates the feeling of being out of his depth.

Of being powerless.

But Maxxie takes him from behind, him on his hands and knees, braced against the headboard and a broken moan slips through his swollen lips.

He can't deny that it feels good, Maxxie's hands tangled in his hair, slamming into that spot again and again until he sees white, blinding white and tumbles over the edge of something that could simply be called pleasure but isn't only. Tony can't find the stop button anymore, replaying the moment, the touch of skin, the salty taste of sweat.

(_They're playing a complicated game here and he thinks he might be losing_.)

That's what bothers him. Itches at him, like the lyrics to a forgotten song.

He goes back for more, despite his best efforts not to.

This time it's Maxxie, pressed against a wall and it feels a little more normal, a little more like Tony Stonem and control, but he falls off the edge anyway with a low moan of _Maxxie_ buried in the boy's shoulder.

Looking back, he gives up here.

* * *

><p>Sex with Tony is all about power.<p>

It's all about who will break first.

He let's Tony drag him into the bedroom by the front of his shirt and slam the door shut.

(_But Maxxie locks it_.)

He lets the other boy shove him down unto the plush bed covers and straddle him, both of their jeans painfully tight at this point. Eager fingers slip the shirt over Maxxie's head.

Tony slows suddenly, teasing him.

Dark eyes filled with lust and amusement, the boy leans down to lick a sloppy line from the hollow of his neck down to the dip of his bellybutton.

Maxxie arches up into the wetness of Tony's mouth and grinds them together.

He sees the Stonem confidence slip just a little at the very real reminder that he is about to fuck around with another guy. A split second hesitation and Maxxie sees his chance, takes it.

He flips them effortlessly, pushing Tony back into the mattress.

He's stronger then he looks and Tony is caught off-balance, caught breathless by an outcome he hadn't prepared for. The brunette blinks up at him in surprise and he uses the moment to slip Tony's form fitting jeans down to his ankles, leaving only his tight white briefs.

Tony swallows roughly, pushing himself up on his elbows, confident mask falling away completely, the word _wait_ hovering on the tip of his tongue.

Maxxie takes a moment to relish in the feeling of control.

Of knowing what Tony looks like when he's unsure.

Before the other boy can cut this short, Maxxie presses an open-mouthed kiss against the thin fabric of his briefs, his mouth hot and wet. Tony's breath hitches, body trembling with warring desire and nerves.

He is the _only one_ that knows what this looks like.

(_Delicious_.)

Maxxie licks his lips, looking straight into Tony's impossibly dark eyes.

He knows full well what he looks like right now, his lips swollen from frantic, messy kisses. His hair, always so perfect, now tangled and mussed. His eyes, those wide innocent eyes, glinting with lust and possibilities. Maxxie might let a little bit of the desperation slip through the cracks; a little bit of how much he needs this.

He looks straight at Tony and says, clearly, pronouncing every single word:

"I am going to suck your cock."

Maxxie is a fallen angel and Tony shudders and sinks back into the pillows with a helpless moan.

(_Delicious and his for the taking_.)

This is only _for him_.

See, there was supposed to be a different ending. One that involved leaving Tony slick and begging for it, tasting like the color red would, if it had a flavor. Like carefully laid plans, ripe for picking. Like lust, the violence of attraction and, yeah, of love. That's how you win, remember? Maxxie is his own puppeteer-he plans to leave, to have the upper hand.

Instead, he doesn't. He tells himself he will, next time.

Looking back, he gives in here.

* * *

><p>THE END<p> 


End file.
